


Black Eyed Boy

by lettersbyelise



Series: Prompt Fics [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Library, M/M, Potions Class, Quidditch, Sorry Not Sorry, Tumblr Prompt, ambiguous timeline, one hundred percent fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 23:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14758013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersbyelise/pseuds/lettersbyelise
Summary: That morning, Malfoy shows up at the Slytherin table sporting a black eye.Ablack eye.And a massive one at that.It is terribly distracting, isn’t it? Not in a sexy way. No. Not at all.Harry’s not distracted. He just wants to…investigate, that’s all.





	Black Eyed Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](http://vhsmeme.tumblr.com/post/168827740448/hurt-prompts) tumblr prompt.
> 
> A huge thank you to my lovely betas [Erin_Riwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erin_Riwen/pseuds/Erin_Riwen) and Tim for their insightful comments and for screaming with me while I was writing this <3  
> Thank you [crazyparakiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/pseuds/crazyparakiss) for helping me move on past the "middle of the fic" hurdle!

That morning, Malfoy shows up at the Slytherin table sporting a black eye.

A _black eye._

And a massive one at that.

Harry’s glass of pumpkin juice stops an inch away from his mouth, and he freezes.

Malfoy’s got a black eye, and all Harry can do is stare, mouth gaping, breakfast forgotten.

‘You alright, mate?’ He feels Ron’s elbow lightly jab his side.

‘Huh. Yeah,’ Harry all but drops his glass on the table in his attempt to school his features into something… something a normal person would feel, seeing Draco Malfoy with a blue and purple bruise on the side of his face. Merlin, what is _wrong_ with him? ‘Why d’you ask?’

‘I dunno, you looked like you… phased out or something for a minute.’ Ron exchanges a worried look with Hermione, which can’t bode well for Harry.

‘Are you… sleeping well these days, Harry?’ Hermione asks in the careful tone that Harry’s come to associate with _you look really weird and/or like shit, Harry_.

But there’s no reason to look weird, surely. Harry was just surprised to see Malfoy with a black eye. It’s not something you’d expect from him, is it? Polished, posh, perfectly put-together Malfoy. Crabbe or Goyle, sure, you’d have no problem imagining them with a black eye. Hell, Harry has seen them looking beaten up more times than he remembers, being the violence-prone boys that they are. It never bothered him. But Malfoy… that’s entirely different. And he’s not even attempting to hide it! In fact, half the Slytherin table seems to have noticed already: Crabbe and Goyle hover protectively over Malfoy, as if they know they’ve failed him this one time and won’t be caught dead failing him again; Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott take turns patting his shoulders proudly, to which Malfoy answers with his usual self-satisfied smirk; and Pansy Parkinson is almost draped over the table, cooing at him and trying to touch his injured cheekbone. To Harry’s intense and slightly sickening delight, Malfoy seems supremely annoyed by her solicitous attentions.

After a minute, when he realises he’s been staring again, he looks around to find Ron and Hermione blinking at him in concern. They must have followed his gaze. He’s fucked.

‘Harry… is this about Malfoy again?’

Why _again_? He wants to retort, but thinks better of it.

‘Malfoy has a black eye,’ he lowers his voice and tells them. ‘What d’you reckon he’s been up to?’

More exchanges of careful glances between his friends.

‘Huh, mate… I reckon it’s probably some stupid Malfoy shit. Since when do you care?’

 _Since when, Harry?_ The little voice in his head demands. He shuts it up hastily. Better to ignore the whole thing. Ron is right.

‘Yeah, I suppose I don’t,’ he says. After a second where he has to endure some more concerned staring from his two best friends, they go back to their breakfast, happily picking up a conversation about the merits of the beautiful spring weather for their upcoming Care of Magical Creatures class about newborn unicorns.

And Harry thinks.

He’s going to get to the bottom of the mystery of Draco-Malfoy-with-a-black-eye if it’s the last thing he does.

 

****

 

Harry makes his first breakthrough three days later, when he, Ron, Fred and George are walking out of the Quidditch lockers just when Malfoy is walking in.

Harry surreptitiously watched Malfoy the whole past three days for signs that would explain the presence of that black eye, but he came up empty-handed. Malfoy was just his usual self these past days, his friends their usual snotty Slytherins, and the people who disliked them… well, they did not seem more vindictive than usual. Nothing that would explain what happened to Malfoy.

What Harry learnt these past three days, however, was that Malfoy’s black eye suited him rather well. And not in a _that-prat-deserved-it_ kind of way.

In a _Malfoy-looks-rather-hot-with-that-bad-boy-look-about-him-and-I-never-noticed_ kind of way.

‘Excuse me,’ he mutters to his friends as he stops in the doorway, looking back at where Malfoy turned around the corner of a row of lockers.

Ron raises an eyebrow at him as if to say, _Mate_ … but Harry holds up a reassuring hand and turns around. If Ron wants to follow him, he seems to think better of it and leaves him to it. The door shuts behind Harry and he finds himself in the semi-darkness of the Quidditch boys’ changing lockers, holding his breath to listen to what Malfoy is doing.

He slowly walks to the corner where he last saw Malfoy turn, and when he moves around it, he finds himself face to face with a very still, very pissed-off Draco Malfoy.

‘What is it, Potter?’ He demands in that deep drawl of his, hands on his hips, and something that’s probably not entirely sane thrills in Harry’s gut at the challenge. Malfoy looks all… pointy and tall and lean, his skin pale except for the yellowing bruise around his right eye, his grey eyes gleaming balefully in the dim light, his golden hair falling into his eyes.

He’s quite fit, and Harry kind of hates that the thought only hits him _now_.

‘What?’ Harry answers, as though it’s perfectly normal for him to linger in the Quidditch changing rooms alone with his nemesis.

‘You’ve been looking at me funny for three days. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’ve about the subtlety of a troll on a love potion. What. Is. It?’

Harry’s mind races, looking around for an excuse, an alibi, anything that won’t make him sound like a fucking psycho. In the end, he can’t find it, so he just blurts what this has all been about.

‘How did you get that black eye?’

Malfoy’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

‘That’s _it_? _That’s_ what you want to know?’ He seems genuinely surprised, but recovers quickly, his familiar sneer firmly back into place. ‘And what’s it to you, Potter?’

‘If someone’s been… bothering you, or something…’ Harry swallows, feeling utterly lame.

‘You’ll come and kick their arse, like the good little Saviour you are?’ Malfoy waves his hand dismissively. ‘Please. Like I need your help. You should see the other guy.’

Harry quite inexplicably feels himself grinning. ‘Good,’ he says. ‘I’m relieved.’

‘Are you now?’ Malfoy scoffs, but Harry notices the tips of his ears turning pink. It’s… _charming_ , and Harry’s utterly delighted that he produced such a reaction in Draco Malfoy for once.

And equally appalled by how quickly it sets his heart racing.

It’s crazy, isn’t it? Feeling that way about a schoolmate with a… very sexy bruise on his face. Not that Harry thinks that bruises are sexy _per se_ , oh Merlin. No. But the implications of it… that Malfoy might have been in a fight… a _Muggle_ fight at that… threw punches and got hit a few times for his effort but still fought valiantly enough to come out of it with a mere black eye as his badge… Well, Harry has to admit, now that the object of his… _investigation_ is standing in front of him, so close he can feel his warm breath on his cheeks, that he finds it disturbingly, but decidedly, _sexy as hell_.

And his Gryffindor heart, despite the shock of perhaps _liking_ _something_ about Malfoy, screams at him to just go with it.

‘Yeah,’ he tells Malfoy with a smile that’s almost sly, ‘I am. I think it suits you. It’s rather… hot.’

And at the look of utter shock on Malfoy’s face, which is rapidly turning as pink as his ears, Harry winks at him, turns around and strides out of the lockers.

He did it, he asked Malfoy about the black eye. The black eye that started the unbelievable din in Harry’s head and heart. And now… well, he supposes he’ll just have to wait.

Won’t he?

 

****

 

Malfoy’s black eye eventually heals and his face returns to his usual pale, flawless complexion. The strange little twinge of disappointment Harry feels makes him slightly sick. Hermione and Ron keep throwing him worried glances for a few days, evidently waiting for him to launch in another one of his Malfoy tirades, so he keeps his mouth shut and his opinions on Malfoy’s newly-noticed bad boy aura to himself.

He doesn’t think of Malfoy that way. He just doesn’t.

First off, Malfoy is a git. Secondly, he’s a _massive_ git. Thirdly… he’s a boy. It’s not the first time Harry’s thought of another boy as attractive, and he’s never thought anything of it so far, really. But the fact that it’s _Malfoy…_ and a _massive git_ … and, yes, _a boy,_ on top of everything else—well, Harry’s not sure how to feel about it.

So he decides to ignore it, just as he ignores the images of white-blond hair and haughty smirks that pop up in his head when he quietly wanks in his bed at night. And then again in the shower in the morning.

Bloody fucking hell.

The whole situation is not helped by the odd, inquiring glances that Malfoy is throwing him when he thinks Harry can’t see him. He supposes his blurting out that Malfoy’s black eye was kind of hot in front of the main person involved could be the cause of it. He still doesn’t know what possessed him to say it. Granted, the confused look on Malfoy’s face was priceless… but in hindsight, he wonders how Malfoy could have interpreted it. Surely, he didn’t take Harry seriously. Did he?

After three weeks of carefully curated thoughts—because from now on he’s only allowing himself to think of the Giant Squid, Hagrid’s rock cakes, the look on Madam Pince’s face when he returns a library book late, and Ron’s pile of dirty socks by the bed—Harry feels like he can finally relax. It’s been several days since he was disturbed by unwanted, Malfoy’s-sexy-black-eye thoughts.

He drops on the seat next to Ron in Potions, breathing a sigh of relief. Honestly, even double Potions with the Slytherins doesn’t seem so daunting now that his brain is Malfoy-free. He starts pulling supplies out of his bag while Ron haggles with Hermione for her notes from last week when the door opens again and there is a sudden hush.

‘Mister Malfoy,’ Harry hears Snape drawl, his usual pleased tone addressing his favourite student several degrees colder, ‘next class, you shall do us the favour to have your… egregiously childish battle wounds fixed by Madam Pomfrey before showing up in my classroom.’

Harry’s head snaps up.

Malfoy has taken a seat up front next to Pansy Parkinson.

An conspicuous black eye blooms purple and blue around his left eye, displayed without an ounce of abashment.

‘Yes, sir,’ Malfoy answers docilely, but the eyes he turns Harry’s way are anything but.

There’s a challenge there somewhere, and Harry feels himself dissociate: his entire body thrums with interest while his mind looks on, horrified.

Malfoy seems to sense it; with an amused upward flick of his eyebrow, he sends all of Harry’s efforts at compartmentalising his thoughts out of the window (so to speak—they’re in the dungeons, after all).

Harry groans out loud.

‘Are you having some kind of stroke, Potter?’ Snape turns sharply on him. _Fuck_. ‘Or do I need to send both you and Mister Malfoy to the infirmary?’ Harry feels the horrible blush creep up his neck. _Sweet Merlin, please do!!_ screams his body. _I’d rather be fed to the merpeople!!_ says his mind. ‘Ten points from Gryffindor,’ Snape drawls.

Malfoy snickers a few rows away. ‘And ten points from Slytherin, Mister Malfoy, for being in no fit state to make fun of your classmates.’

Everyone in the classroom spends the next double period in a grim mood, but Harry most of all.

He was doing so well.  
  
And Malfoy had to walk all over Harry’s commendable efforts to ignore the blasted git.

 

****

 

When Harry joins them at the Gryffindor table for dinner, his friends interrupt him before he can even speak.

‘No, just… no,’ Hermione tells him firmly.

‘I don’t think I can take another minute of you talking about Malfoy, mate,’ Ron adds.

‘I haven’t—I haven’t said anything!’ Harry says, indignant.

‘No, but you had that look on your face,’ Ron tells him.

‘And you’ve already lost us ten points because of Malfoy today, Harry.’

‘He lost ten points to Slytherin, too!’

Hermione crosses her arms on her chest. ‘Yes, and now we’re neck to neck with Slytherin for the House Cup and Ravenclaw is first. Honestly, Harry, it’s as though you don’t care about winning.’

‘I do care about winning!’ Harry argues. ‘I just… there’s definitely something going on with him!’

‘Why do you even care?’ Hermione asks, and both she and Ron lean their elbows on the table, looking at him expectantly, as though Harry knows the reason and they can just wait patiently for him to tell them.

‘Er,’ is all Harry can say.

‘I reckon you should take a moment to think about it, mate,’ Ron says, almost… compassionately.

Which is not something Harry is comfortable to evaluate at the moment.

‘Fine,’ he grumbles. ‘I won’t talk about—about _him_. But just so you know, you’re missing out on some really mind-blowing theories.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Hermione sighs and smiles placatingly. ‘Now let’s have some dinner and catch up on our Potions homework, shall we?’

 

****

 

Hermione’s encouragement to make progress on their Potions homework is a good idea in theory. In practice, it’s a disaster. Malfoy and his friends come in the Library a few minutes after Harry, Ron and Hermione sit to study. Malfoy picks a seat that puts him right in Harry’s line of sight, and Harry can’t concentrate on anything for the rest of the evening. Malfoy’s white-blond hair is gleaming in the dim light, falling into his eyes when he bends his head over his notes. Every so often, he reaches up and runs his fingers through it, pushing it out of his eyes and tucking the longer strands behind his ear. Harry finds the gesture horribly distracting.

He also notes that Malfoy quite obviously didn’t visit the infirmary after the incident with Snape this morning. His left eye is still surrounded by that impressive bruise; he holds his head up proudly, as if begging to be noticed—as if it was possible to do anything but—and Harry is struck with the idea that maybe Malfoy… _wants_ people to notice. Or at least, he wants _someone_ to notice.

After an hour of reading the same sentence of his Potions book over and over—bloody Malfoy keeps combing his hair back or smirking at his friends or catching Harry’s eye rather defiantly- Harry shuts his book with a loud clap and stands.

‘I think I’m done with my essay,’ he tells a startled Hermione. ‘See you tomorrow?’

‘But, Harry, you didn’t even write anything,’ she says.

‘It’s all in here,’ he points at his own head. ‘I’ll write everything down tomorrow.’

Ron looks at him as though he’s gone mental.

‘Bye!’ he says before his friends can stop him, and he quickly walks out of the the library. He hopes Malfoy’s eyes are on him, but he can’t very well turn to check, so he can’t be sure.

As soon as he’s outside, he pulls his Invisibility Cloak from his bag and hides in a corner, eyes trained on the Library door. He barely has to wait five minutes for the door to open and for a tall, blond figure to stalk out.

This time, Harry doesn’t even pretend to run into Malfoy by accident. He grabs him by the arm and drags him further down the darkened corridor, pushing him into an alcove and pulling off the Cloak in one move.

‘What the fuck,’ he hears Malfoy mutter. Then, when he catches sight of him—’Potter?’

‘You said no one was hurting you,’ Harry whispers at him. He’s pretty sure nobody can see them from the corridor, but if Ron and Hermione catch him lecturing Malfoy in a dark alcove, they will send him to St Mungo’s to get his head checked the next day.

‘No one is, except you,’ Malfoy whispers back angrily. ‘You’re hurting my _head_ , Potter. What do you _want_?’

Harry steps closer. From where he is, he can hear Malfoy’s fast breathing.

‘How do you explain that bloody black eye, then?’

Malfoy’s eyes gleam dangerously in the dark. ‘Why would I explain anything to you? Since when do I owe you anything?’

Harry balls his hands into fists. Merlin, it’s like the infuriating git is begging for a punch. And what Harry wouldn’t give to give into that weirdly appealing temptation. To fight Malfoy Muggle-style. Maybe push him up against the wall. Or wrestle him down to the ground. Feel Malfoy’s lithe body writhe under him…

Or… maybe stopping that train of thought would be for the best.

So Harry goes for the next best thing.

‘If you don’t want to tell me, then maybe you won’t mind if I take this matter to Dumbledore. I’m sure your parents will be thrilled to learn their precious pratty son gets into Muggle brawls at school.’

Malfoy blanches.

 _Yes_ , Harry thinks. _The trump card of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. So easy_.

‘Fine, Potter. I just… fell.’

‘You… fell?’

‘Yes,’ Malfoy continues slowly. ‘I fell from my broom. During Quidditch practice. That’s all.’

‘Oh,’ Harry says. Quidditch. Of course. Quidditch injuries are quite common. Just last week Ron came back with a bleeding nose from getting hit by a Quaffle flying his way toward the goal posts. Falling from one’s broom is plausible, and the bruise looks fresh, as if Malfoy only got it yesterday, and—

 _Wait_.

The Slytherin team did not have Quidditch practice yesterday, nor the day before. Harry knows because he’s been obsessing over watching Malfoy’s dot on the Marauders’ Map all week. And Malfoy did not come near the Quidditch pitch those past few days.

‘You liar, you did not!’ he points an accusatory finger at Malfoy. Quick like a Kneazle, Malfoy grabs Harry’s finger and pulls it backwards. ‘Ow!’

‘When are you going to learn to mind your own business, Potter?’ he says through gritted teeth, close to Harry’s ear. His breath tickles the sensitive skin there and sends a shiver down his spine. ‘Why do you suddenly care so much about my health and wellbeing?’

Harry manages to pull his finger out of Malfoy’s grip and massages it angrily, glaring at Malfoy.

‘I don’t _care_ about you, Malfoy. I’m just… _investigating_.’

Investigating. That sounds about right. Otherwise, come to think about it, he doesn’t really know why he’s here tonight, hiding in an alcove with Draco bloody Malfoy, trying to get him to spill a secret he obviously doesn’t want to tell Harry. Why would he? They’re arch enemies, for Merlin’s sake.

‘No,’ Malfoy drawl in the dark, and Harry can hear his smirk as he speaks. ‘You just think it suits me, don’t you? You think it makes me look rather hot. Who knew you were into that sort of thing, Potter?’

It takes all of Harry’s self restraint not to push Malfoy against the wall. But then the infuriating git would probably interpret it as confirmation that Harry… _fancies_ him, or something.

Does he?

Harry is not sure about much anymore.

One thing he’s sure of, though: Malfoy looks _bloody fit_. With or without a black eye.

He glances at Malfoy, hoping that the darkness covers his rising blush. So Malfoy jokes about Harry fancying him, does he? Better brazen it out, then. See how Malfoy likes that.

‘You know what I think, Malfoy. I already told you last time. I just didn’t know you… returned the sentiment.’

At that, Malfoy sputters. Harry could cheer with delight. He _knew_ it. He knew it would get Malfoy flustered. _The boot is on the other foot now, isn’t it, Malfoy?_

His victory is short lived, however. Because he feels a hand on his chest, and Malfoy is pushing him against the wall, stepping into his space and leaning in… leaning _right the fuck in_. He’s breathing close to Harry, the hot puffs of his breath caressing the side of Harry’s neck. His long fingers clench around the fabric of Harry’s school robes almost possessively, and Harry all but whimpers. That elicits a light chuckle from Malfoy and Harry wants to melt into that cold stone wall. Or into Malfoy. Any of these two options sounds good right now.

‘Oh, wouldn’t you like that, Potter,’ Malfoy purrs.

It sounds like a threat or like an encouragement.

Before Harry can react, Malfoy loosens the grip on his robes and steps back. His pale eyes gleam hot and baleful in the darkness, and Harry feels weak in the knees.

‘Leave me the fuck alone, Potter, unless you plan to be the next one with a black eye.’

And with his robes billowing around him, he’s gone.

And Harry is left alone in the dark alcove, rubbing his lips absently while thanking the Hogwarts founders for loose school robes. He’s got the most massive hard-on of his life, and he only stands a chance to conceal it from his Gryffindor friends thanks to the extra fabric.

 

****

 

Okay.

Okay. Okay, okay.

So apparently, Harry fancies Malfoy.

There’s really no other explanation, is there?

It explains a lot: the dreams; his heart rate speeding dangerously every time Malfoy appears in his line of sight; the fact that somehow, he always seems to know where Malfoy is and what he’s doing, with or without the help of the Marauders’ Map. His wanking fantasies have become a lot hotter since he came to terms with the fact that _yes_ , he wanks to thoughts of Draco Malfoy, and _yes_ , these thoughts are largely responsible for his body’s fast and efficient response.

And Malfoy keeps casting wary glances in his direction now, too, which is bloody distracting. Is it because of what Harry told him? Because of what Malfoy told him? Could Harry have awaken curious thoughts in his arch nemesis? _Former_ arch nemesis? Could Malfoy… return his feelings?

Ugh. _Feelings_. Harry doesn’t have _feelings_. Okay, so maybe he fancies the git. Maybe said git is too fit for his own good. Maybe Harry wants to rub his face on Malfoy’s face, wants to taste those ridiculously full lips, wants to press himself into Malfoy and press Malfoy into the wall.

But these are not _feelings_.

Are they?

‘Harry!’ Hermione snaps her fingers in front of his face.

‘Huh?’ he blinks, turning to look at her.

‘You’re doing it again,’ she says, keeping her voice down. Both of them decided to work on their Care for Magical Creatures essay tonight, while Ron sat a little further in the Gryffindor Common Room and played a game of wizarding chess with a small first-year who, according to Ron, was already a more skilled player than Harry would ever be. ‘Is there anything going on? You can talk to me, you know.’

She has that knowing look on her face, and Harry sighs.

‘It’s nothing, really. I was just wondering… hypothetically… what could it mean to be sort of… attracted to someone you thought you really disliked?’ His face feels hot, so he shrugs faux-nonchalantly.

‘Oh,’ Hermione says, leaning back into her chair. ‘I never thought you’d… ask.’

‘I’m just asking for a friend,’ Harry hastens to elaborate, mortified by the blush that keeps progressing on his cheeks.

‘Mmh. Sure. For a friend,’ Hermione concedes thoughtfully. ‘Well, I think it’s a brilliant idea, if it makes _your friend_ happy, of course. If they make sure that the certain someone they dislike is actually good for them, you know?’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Harry tells her truthfully. ‘I mean, they only had a few conversations so far… and it was a bit tense… but also unexpectedly nice, I suppose?’

‘So… they really fancy him, do they?’ Hermione asks with a small smile.

‘Yeah, I think they do.’

‘Even though that person is a massive prat sometimes?’

Harry blushes harder. ‘I think it’s just a façade.’

Hermione gives him a small, satisfied smile. She picks up her quill and puts it to parchment, hand bending over her books. Just when Harry thinks the conversation is over, she says from under her bushy mane of hair: ‘Well, to be fair, I think that person is quite fit, so your friend could do worse, couldn’t he?’

‘You think he’s fit?’ Harry drops his quill. Now there is a big ink stain in the middle of his parchment. His eyes flick to Ron who’s quietly losing a knight to the small first-year girl. Hermione laughs.

‘I have eyes, Harry. I can have opinions on how fit more than one boy is. I’m just saying, your _hypothetical_ friend has good taste in men.’

‘He’s not hypothetical,’ Harry mumbles. Did he somehow just come out to Hermione? Does admitting to fancying one specific blond git count as coming out? He’s not even sure he’s gay. Or bisexual. Or straight. Or anything, really. He’s thought of other people as handsome or pretty or fit. He’s never been _attracted_ to anyone like this.

Maybe he’s just Dracosexual.

‘It’s fine, Harry,’ Hermione says gently. ‘You take your time.’

And he does. Malfoy’s second black eye heals again, slowly turning from dark blue to purple to yellow and eventually leaving his beautifully haughty face unblemished once more.

Harry doesn’t miss it anymore. Malfoy’s face is pretty enough to look at without the extra incentive, and his pale, grey eyes are striking enough without the outlandish addition of a bruise.

A week later, Gryffindor loses their first game of the year against Slytherin when Malfoy dives at full speed and catches the Snitch while Harry is lost in a daydream featuring the curve of Malfoy’s arse, long hard broomsticks, and the hot shower that awaits him after the game. All this because Malfoy looks too bloody hot on a broom.

‘Harry, what in the name of Circe’s saggy tits happened on that pitch?!’ Oliver Wood attacks him as soon as they step into the Quidditch changing rooms after the game. ‘That fucking Snitch was right under your fucking nose and there you were, gaping like a fucking Grindylow out of water!’

Harry is as mortified by Wood’s dressing-down as he is by Malfoy’s knowing smirk when he and the Slytherin team walk into the lockers a few minutes later. Harry is pretty sure that Malfoy doesn’t need to be a Legilimens to know exactly what was going on in his head.

But the surreptitious glances exchanged over piles of books in the Library, above shoulders in class and across the Great Hall during meals continue, so Harry can’t bring himself to care too much about the consequences of his distraction. Catching Malfoy’s grey eyes and seeing the quick look of surprise in them a split second before he schools his features into his usual disdainful sneer is worth every House point Harry loses over it.

 

****

 

Harry is on his way to the Library again when he hears them. The voice is deep and threatening, and Harry turns sharply in its direction.

‘Hold still, Draco, you ridiculous twat, or it’s actually going to hurt this time.’

‘Yeah, you know Crabbe offered to do it the Muggle way if it didn’t look convincing enough with magic.’

There’s a small group of people round the corner of the corridor. Slytherins, if the green of their ties is to be believed. Harry quickly identifies them with a sick twist of his stomach. There’s Malfoy, backed against a wall; Pansy Parkinson, holding Malfoy’s face between her hands; Blaise Zabini, brandishing his wand right under Malfoy’s nose; and Crabbe and Goyle, a couple of feet away, fidgeting on their feet.

‘Fucking do it, Blaise, we haven’t got all day, have we?’ Malfoy snarls.

‘STOP!’ Harry yells and runs in their direction. The Slytherins gape at him, but Malfoy is the first to recover from Harry’s outburst. His expression switches from surprised to aghast to murderous in less than a second, but Harry doesn’t care. He pulls his wand from his robes pocket and points it at Zabini menacingly.

‘You disgusting bastard,’ he growls. ‘Isn’t he supposed to be your friend?’

Zabini lifts up his hands in mock surrender and bursts out laughing. Parkinson joins him, and even Crabbe and Goyle giggle quietly in the background while Malfoy stares daggers at them.

‘Potter, that was truly exceptional,’ Zabini snickers. ‘Such an excellent impersonation of the knight in shining armour. Never would have guessed old Draco here would be a fitting damsel in distress for you.’

Harry’s eyes flick to Malfoy. His curled lips are pale but his cheeks are flushed. He’s furious, there’s no doubt about it. Harry just can’t tell who he is more furious with, his friends or Harry.

‘Yeah?’ Harry challenges instead. ‘Maybe he needs help stopping his friends from beating him up.’

At that, Zabini and Parkison’s giggles redouble.

‘ _Help?_ ’ Zabini laughs, an incredulous eyebrow raised. ‘Potter, we’re helping _him_ . He _asked_ us to spell that black eye on him.’

Behind him, Malfoy slaps his palm on his forehead.

‘ _Blaise!_ ’ he groans.

Harry’s jaw hangs open.

‘Is it true?’ he asks Malfoy. ‘You… it wasn’t a fight?’

Malfoy glares at him from between his fingers. Harry can’t see his face, but his ears are bright red. ‘No, Potter, it wasn’t a fight,’ he admits.

‘Then what was it?’ Harry asks and turns to Malfoy’s friends.

‘Time for us to slip away, don’t you think?’ Parkinson tells Zabini, linking her arm to his and pulling him away.

‘Good luck, Draco,’ Zabini smirks as they skitter away, trailed by Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry is left alone with Malfoy, unsure what to do next. He turns slowly to face him.

‘What is this really about, Malfoy?’ he says more calmly than he feels.

Malfoy stares above Harry’s shoulder, affecting indifference. ‘An experiment.’

‘In what?’ Harry asks, aghast.

Malfoy hesitates, then he finally meets Harry’s eyes full on. He looks abashed, almost apologetic, and the effect is disastrous for Harry’s insides. ‘In… catching your attention, I suppose.’

‘Catching… my attention.’ Harry is too stunned to say anything else.

‘Yes, Potter,’ Malfoy tells him impatiently. ‘Blaise and Theo were joking about how you have a Saviour complex a few weeks ago, and I… I thought about a plan.’

‘A plan.’

‘Is there an echo in here? Yes, a _plan_ , Potter! I wondered if you’d notice if I… I appeared beaten up one day.’

‘So… you asked your friends to give you a fake black eye? So that I would… _notice_ you?’ Harry’s mind feels blank, his mouth dry. _Merlin_.

‘And it worked, didn’t it? It exceeded my wildest expectations, to be honest. Not only did you notice but it actually bothered you, didn’t it? To the point that you confronted me about it twice.’

‘And I said I thought you looked fit,’ Harry adds for no other reason than his unhelpful lack of brain-mouth filter.

‘That one really took the cake, I admit,’ Malfoy smirks.

‘But… I already notice you, Malfoy,’ Harry tells him earnestly. ‘I notice you all the time. You’re pretty hard to miss, kicking up a fuss every time you’re not the centre of everyone’s attention.’

Malfoy glares at him with his eyebrow raised in mute challenge, and it clicks. ‘Oh,’ Harry says. ‘You wanted me to notice you in a different way… you wanted me to… to _see_ you.’

Malfoy shifts his eyes away from him. He seems a bit embarrassed but he shrugs anyway.

‘Maybe.’

Harry smiles.

‘That’s a really stupid plan, Malfoy.’

‘It’s only stupid if it fails,’ Malfoy counters, still avoiding Harry’s eyes.

Harry laughs now. ‘I thought Slytherins were supposed to be cunning and clever.’

‘We are. Didn’t my _stupid_ plan work?’

Harry swallows hard, feeling caught. ‘It did.’

Malfoy’s slow smile rearranges Harry’s insides. ‘So it’s true, isn’t it? You fancy me, Potter.’

Harry pretends nonchalance. ‘So? You fancied me first. You’re the one who came up with a full plan to make me notice you, got all your friends involved, repeated it several times and lost House points over it.’

‘You lost House points too, need I remind you? You even lost the last Quidditch game. Quite spectacularly, might I add.’ He gives Harry his best trademark smirk and eyebrow lift. ‘Is my arse _that_ alluring, Potter?’

Harry isn’t sure what he wants most: to punch the stupid git or to push him up against the wall and kiss him senseless. ‘Shut it, Malfoy. You bloody well know it is.’

Malfoy laughs and reaches up to tuck his hair behind his ear, in a way he must know by now Harry finds irresistible. ‘Are you going to do something about it, then?’

‘In just a second.’ He reaches for Malfoy’s robes, fists the fabric and steps into Malfoy’s personal space in an echo of their last close encounter outside the Library. Malfoy’s eyes widen in surprise for a second before they darken, hot and demanding. His eyes are gorgeous, Harry thinks. Pale, changing shades of grey, expressive, unique. Like Malfoy, he thinks dimly, with Malfoy’s breath on his lips. He leans up to kiss him.

‘Mmh,’ Malfoy tries to say something, but whatever he had in mind quickly turns into an appreciative moan.

‘Mmh,’ Harry opines in answer, kissing him deeper, pulling on Malfoy’s robe and bringing him closer to him. Malfoy’s fingers thread into his hair, gentle and possessive, and Harry shivers. He can feel Malfoy’s strong, lean body pressed against his and it’s such a novel sensation. He’s only kissed girls before, all soft hills and valleys. Malfoy is tall and steep like a cliff. Except for his lips, and his tongue which has found its way into Harry’s mouth. They’re incredibly soft and so at odds with its owner that Harry can’t help but smile.

‘What’s funny?’ Malfoy mumbles against his lips, almost absentmindedly. Harry has to admit what they’re doing is bloody distracting.

‘Nothing,’ Harry breathes. ‘You feel good.’

Heat flares in Malfoy’s eyes again, his hands fisting into Harry’s hair almost painfully. ‘Do I?’

‘Yeah, you do. As much as I’d like to keep snogging you in the middle of a school corridor… Could we move this to somewhere more… private?’ Harry knows his face must be revealingly pink. He would be embarrassed, if he could bring himself to care about anything but the fact that Draco Malfoy has his body right up against his, his hands in his hair, his lips an inch away from Harry’s, and what can only be a very insistent erection pressing against Harry’s thigh…  

He fancies Draco Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy fancies him back. It’s surreal and marvelous all at the same time.

‘I know just the place,’ Malfoy tells him. Harry kisses him again and rocks against him, once, twice until Malfoy gasps. ‘Ah—on the seventh floor… you just have to wish for it.’

Sliding his hand into Harry’s, he steps in the direction of the Room of Requirement, looking at Harry in silent inquiry.

Harry smiles.

‘I think I know exactly what you mean.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading... kudos and comments are lovely <3!
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lettersbyelise)!


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